


Bad Decisions

by berrymascarpone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anakin Skywalker is the well adjusted one somehow, Attempt at Humor, Bad Flirting, Casual Sex, Cody is jealous but doesn't realize it, Crack, F/M, Fade to Black, Jealousy, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan is out off fucks to give, Pining, a Hot Mess, but literally he has all the fucks to give, codywan endgame, embarassment for everyone, except Palpatine, metaphorically, rex is having so much fun, rex is laughing his head off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berrymascarpone/pseuds/berrymascarpone
Summary: The Clone Wars are over, and the galaxy is rebuilding, the clones are trying to find their paths forward as new citizens, and Obi-Wan Kenobi is tired, overworked, and losing his goddamn mind.The four times Obi-Wan sleeps with an enemy, and the one time he makes a good decision.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Cad Bane/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Asajj Ventress, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Hondo Ohnaka
Comments: 154
Kudos: 1260





	1. No One Parties Like a Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> What even is this.

The war is over, and yet, Obi-Wan realizes, the work never ends. There are planets to reintegrate back into the republic, war torn worlds to reassure and restore, reparations to make. The Jedi are no longer generals in the army, with the clone citizenship bill passed and the army massively downsized, but their presence still holds weight, especially a Jedi with as prominent a reputation as the Negotiator himself. He takes missions at a relentless pace, knowing that no matter how soon he returns there is always another plea for help, a request for rebuilding waiting for him. He’s always been restless, a result of spending his youth adventuring at Qui-Gon’s side, and more recently three years barely setting foot off a battlefield. But now, Coruscant holds too many things he’d rather avoid, thoughts of what might have happened if Palpatine—if Sidious’ plans had come to fruition. The inescapable hole of Anakin’s absence from the temple, though his former apprentice still resides on Coruscant with a certain senator and keeps his door open to old friends. The reform that the Order desperately needs, to replenish their decimated numbers and fix whatever faults allowed a _Sith Lord_ to ascend to near ultimate power right under their noses.

And most of all he avoids thinking about the clones, with their newly minted Republic citizenship, trying to make lives for themselves beyond the cogs of war, and the complex mass of feelings that gives him—guilt for his role in the war, mixed with happiness that they are finally free of that life, and concern because three years of eating, sleeping and fighting at each other’s backs does not turn into polite distance so easily. He still comms Cody and a few of the 212th regularly, of course, and guides them gently in the direction of the appropriate Republic resources for resettlement and job training, but he needs—time, and space to untangle it all. And they need room to grow without the Jedi that they were made for hovering over them like an inescapable yoke, time to become their own persons rather than the faceless soldiers they were created to be. So it’s no wonder he’s run himself harder even than during the war, when injuries and mandated leave kept him from drowning completely.

He is tired, so tired he feels sometimes that he might just sink into his bunk and hibernate for a whole year like a cranky wampa. Of course, there’s no rest for the weary.

He’s on his way back to Coruscant from another tedious negotiation of a small Separatist planet’s reentry into the Republic when the shuttle he’s on, a small transport carrying just him and a contingent of minor politicians heading back to finalize the process, shudders and abruptly exits hyperspace.

The pilot states with an edge to his voice that there’s no need for panic, it’s just a minor technical difficulty, but Obi-Wan can already feel the presence of another ship, too close for coincidence. He recognizes the handiwork of pirates from his many encounters during the war, but now, he doesn’t have a starship destroyer, or an army of clones behind him. He still has his lightsaber, of course, and the politicians, but from the way they huddle behind him and stare fearfully at the door, he doesn’t think they will be very helpful.

And of course, when the shuttle doors open for the docked ship, it is none other than Honda Ohnaka who swaggers through, his little monkey-lizard perched on a shoulder and arms wide in a welcoming gesture that belies the menacing way the rest of his crew hold up their blasters behind him.

“Kenobi! My old friend!” He says, “What a wonderful coincidence to see you here!”

Obi-Wan lowers his lightsaber with a sigh. “I suppose you’re not here for a social visit?”

“I always have time for friends!”

“If I go with you, will you at least let the rest of them go?” Obi-Wan says, not in the mood for prolonged pleasantries, “I guarantee I’m worth more than everyone else combined.” As far as pirates go, Hondo is one of the better ones, and will probably keep his word about letting the others go.

Hondo scoffs, “All business and no fun? Why, the General I remember would never be so unimaginative. Although,” he pauses, leaning back to look Obi-Wan up and down, like a critic eying the work of an up and coming artist, “I do not recall you so...weathered, my friend.” 

Obi-Wan can imagine what he’s seeing, a tired man with too many bags under his eyes, grey in his hair, and grooves worn deep on his forehead. He shrugs, “War is not easy on a man,” he says, “and we can’t all live the carefree pirate life like yourself, Hondo.”

That makes Hondo laugh, “Very true, my friend. But who knows I might make a carefree pirate of you yet!”

He ushers Obi-Wan through the doors onto his ship with a hand on his elbow, a nice enough gesture if it hadn’t been at blaster point. Still, he tells his crew, “Leave the rest, they are only small fry, and Hondo Ohnaka does not deal in small fry!”

The pirate ship is depressingly familiar. He even has the same cabin he did last time he was a “guest” aboard.

“You know, I’m not a general anymore,” he tells Hondo, as soon as the shuttle he came on slips hastily back into hyperspace, “The Republic won’t authorize the credits for my ransom. And the Jedi funds are tight now.”

Hondo shrugs, “A pity, but not to worry, a pirate is adaptable!”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes, “The Separatists are disbanded,” he says, “you won’t get much out of them either.”

Hondo snorts, “The war has made a cynic of you, Kenobi! I would never sell my dear friend to the separatists. I am an honorable man, undeserving of your suspicion! All I want is to spend some time with an old friend who needs some vacation time. The Jedi have run you ragged.”

Obi-Wan pauses. He hasn’t taken a day off that wasn’t spent in the Halls of Healing in what feels like a half a decade, and he’s tired. Hondo may not be the most trustworthy of friends, but he was a friend, mostly. When it suited him. But Obi-Wan still has his lightsaber and a great deal of faith in his own abilities. He can fight the pirates and take control of the ship and make them bring him to a civilized planet for pickup by the Jedi, and return to his endless rotation of missions. Or he can see where this all goes.

“And what would your idea of a vacation be? There’s not much to do on a pirate ship besides playing sabacc for credits I don’t have.”

Hondo mimes shock, clutching his chest, “Oh you wound me, Kenobi. I assure you the great Hondo Ohnaka has more taste than that! And there are a great many things to do on a ship.”

He flipps an object from some pouch or other on his duster. Obi-Wan catches it instinctively, and looks down bemused at the bottle of amber liquid in his hand. He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you drank Corellian brandy,” he says.

“Pirates do not drink this fancy swill, but for you, my friend, we make an exception.” Hondo looks so eager, and for a moment, Obi-Wan considers it.

It’s a bad idea, he knows. A terrible idea. But he’s stressed, and his head already aches from the thought of more paperwork and politicking, and he's just tired enough to make bad choices. _Oh fuck it_ , he thinks, and, with a gratuitous use of the Force, uncaps the bottle with a thumb and takes a swig. The brandy goes down smooth, much to his surprise. It really is the good stuff.

Hondo cackles, and a few pirates who have been surreptitiously watching them cheer, “So the Jedi can loosen up!”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, “Really, I don’t know where you get the idea that Jedi are all ascetic monks who don’t know how to have a good time. Although,” he looks around the cramped halls of the pirate’s ship, “I do hope we’re headed somewhere more...exciting.”

Hondo beams, “Oh we are. It’s somewhere you will like very much, my friend.”

===

Scarif may be a small remote planet, but it has the best beaches this side of the Rim. At least, that’s what the billboards say as their ship flies in low enough to skim the tops of the palm trees, scattering white and grey seabirds like foam in their wake. If they were here for any other reason, it might even be a nice vacation. But Cody doesn’t have time to pay attention to those things. He focuses only on the small strip of sandy archipelago beach that is their destination, where the coordinates had led. He is half afraid of what they might find there, a trap or a rescue, or—

A hand steadies on his shoulder and he returns to himself. Rex, in the copilot’s seat next to him asks him his status in a low voice. He grunts that he’s fine, and focuses back on piloting, thankful for his vod’s presence here. Usually he is the calmer one, the voice of reason to Rex’s insanity, but now Rex grounds him to their mission. It’s almost like the war again, keep it together until the mission’s over, and then you can fall apart tomorrow.

“He’s fine, your General can take care of himself against a few measly pirates,” Rex offers.

Cody grinds his teeth but loosens his white-knuckles grip on the steering controls. “Not my General anymore,” he grumbles, then sighs, “of course, he’s probably sunning himself on the beach right now, the bastard.”

Rex laughs, “Yeah, that would be just like him.”

===

Former General Kenobi is indeed sunning himself on the beach in a ridiculous beach chair made of woven palm fronds and woody vines, when the two white-armored figures show up, holding their blasters at the ready. But he’s the only one there, sipping a colorful orange and blue drink, sunglasses over his eyes and face shaded by the shadow of the sole palm tree on this stretch of beach.

He raises a lazy hand when he sees them, and Cody can’t help but feel a burst of relief. Rex lets out a laugh that is only half humor, half exasperation, that says _Jedi, what can you do_.

The relief is quickly turned to alarm when Cody gets closer and sees the state of his dress. It isn’t that he’s wearing anything strange, just the standard Jedi uniform, stripped down to the basic undertunics in the heat, but the collar is open wide, showing the sparse copper hair there, and the skin that peeks out from beneath is sun-soaked pink over space pale. And covered in little bruises, like he’s been mauled by a large cephalopod. Cody has seen such bruises on vode who haven’t been secretive about their liaisons with the locals or in some cases each other, and he’s definitely seen similar in General Skywalker after certain political parties where he and a certain senator disappear for suspiciously long periods.

“Cody? And Rex?” Kenobi says, no small amount of surprise in his voice, but no distress thankfully, “I didn’t think they’d send you out for a simple pickup.”

Cody schools his expression, “Ohnaka was a bit vague on the whole situation,” he says, “there were, uh, implications. Threats.”

What Ohnaka actually said was something along the lines of ‘You’d better come soon or there will be nothing left’, and Cody's mind immediately jumped to the many times he's been confronted with similar situations during the war, and he did not wait long enough to consider the less menacing interpretations. Now that he thinks about it, the pirate had seemed a bit too exuberant to be completely sober. But that is a thin line when it comes to Ohnaka.

Kenobi rolls his eyes. “Hondo and his crew left a few hours ago,” he says, “he may be a pirate but he’s all bark and no bite.”

“That looks like plenty of bite to me,” Cody says, the snipiness in his tone surprising even himself. He finds that he is glaring at the--bite marks on his general’s collarbone like he can erase them with vehemence alone. “Sir,” he adds belatedly.

Beside him, Rex makes a choking noise like he’s swallows a frog. Kenobi follows Cody’s gaze and glances down, and flushes before carefully pulling his collar back up to cover the marks.

He looks apologetic, “Well,” he says, “as fun as this vacation is, I hope I haven’t drawn you away from anything important.”

Cody frowns, because _this_ is the most important thing they could be doing. “No, sir,” he says, “just paperwork for the new shinies—we call them recruits now—arriving from Kamino and setting up an employment rotation program for the vode.” There is so much paperwork. He thought the war had been too full of bureaucracy, but it wasn’t until after that he realized they’d been taking shortcuts back then.

“Ah,” Kenobi smiles, “I’m glad you have set that up. The vode deserve the chance to broaden their horizons. And you? Have you decided on a path?”

Cody shrugs, he’s been buried under the paperwork, because there’s always another complaint to address, and the vode deserve to have their voices heard. Even Rex has gone through a six-month cycle in Education of all things (he’d loved the part where he got to teach the younglings new things like swear words and how to shoot a blaster, hated all the rest, and concluded that there was no way in Sith hells he’d ever be a teacher unless it was for something fun like infiltration. Cody’s already considering him for an instructor’s position in the Judicial Academy). He supposes he would like to do something other than paperwork for a change.

Kenobi frowns, “You should think more of yourself,” he says, “Don’t burn yourself out for others.”

Cody snorts, “As if you’re one to talk, sir. I haven’t seen you in person in months, and I hear you’re taking all the missions you can get your hands on.”

Obi-Wan waves a hand, “I’m no longer your commanding officer, Cody. Obi-Wan will do.”

“Of course. Obi-Wan,” Cody says. It feels strange in his mouth, but the good kind of strange, like biting into a fruit he’s never had before and tasting the sweetness on his tongue.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile, wide and genuine, and Cody suddenly feels a shiver.

There’s something about the way Obi-Wan sitting, loose-limbed and relaxed, in a way Cody hasn’t seen before. As if whatever string of tension that’s held him so taut in all the time Cody has known him has snapped. It makes Cody want to do—something. He isn’t sure, but the longing is sudden and sharp as a broken bone.

And then a flock of gulls fly over, screeching and diving for some unseen shoal of silverfish, and his General--Obi-Wan--flinches. The flinch would be unnoticeable to anyone else, a subtle twitch of the shoulders, but Cody has spent too much time watching the man come off the adrenaline highs of the battlefield. Then, he raises a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture. And that, in conjunction with the way he’s obviously squinting behind the sunglasses, and the damning evidence in the glass his hand, leads Cody to a single conclusion.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, “are you hungover?” 

“Why would you think that?” Obi-Wan says.

Cody raises an eyebrow while keeping the rest of his face stone-still. It’s a look that he uses on shinies--sorry, recruits--when they try to convince him their flimsy excuses are actual reasons for being late.

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan concedes, “I did overdo it a bit. Did you know the locals on Scarif ferment the palm sap in bantha stomachs to make their alcohol? It’s absolutely vile, but quite potent.”

Rex makes another choking noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and Cody sighs. “Are you telling me, sir--Obi-Wan, that you got drunk with the pirates that kidnapped you and held you hostage? And they drunkenly placed a call to--what, invite us to join the festivities?”

Obi-Wan frowns, “That does sound like Hondo, though I must confess my recollection after the fifth local drink is a bit fuzzy. There was a lot of singing. And other activities.” He smiles, “it was actually quite enjoyable.”

Cody suppresses the urge to scream. It’s a habit he has perfected down to an art during the war, so all he does is take a deep breath in through his nose.

Rex really sounds like he’s dying, and Cody considers helping him along, just a bit. Obi-Wan, for his part, really looks sorry. “I really didn’t intend for you to worry.” he says, dejected, and that is not a look Cody can resist for long.

Then he tries to take another sip of the drink, the bastard, so Cody lifts the glass from his hand, ignoring the weak protest and replaces it with his own canteen, filled with water. Obi-Wan makes a face, but drinks it anyways under Cody’s quelling gaze.

“As fascinating as that sounds, we should probably get you back to Coruscant before Skywalker implodes with anxiety, or the Council sends more reinforcements after us,” Cody says, extending a hand.

Obi-Wan’s expression might have been a pout on a lesser man, but he takes Cody’s hand and lets himself be levered to his feet. He dusts the sand off his tunics, and straightens them best he can. “Yes,” he says, “we wouldn’t want that.”

Rex has recovered at last, and though his face is flushed with the howls of laughter he’s holding in with prodigious willpower, he manages to choke out, “I hope you had a fun vacation, sir!”


	2. A Thin Line Between Hate and Hate Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The madness continues...

Obi-Wan is sure that the Force hates him. How else would one explain why, on his first mission back on Coruscant, an information drop from an informant that should be a milk run, he finds his informant gone and the drop spot surrounded by members of an upstart new gang from the lower levels, looking to ambush a Jedi? And when he manages to slip the enforcers they send after him by ducking into a narrow alleyway, he finds himself face to unpleasantly-familiar face with the bounty hunter Cad Bane.

They stare at each other for a surprised second, before Bane rushes forward, teeth bared. Obi-Wan dodges a blow to the head, and catches the next one with his fist, using the momentum to sling Bane into the wall. A boot finds his stomach in retaliation, and he tumbles into a heap of something he’d rather not think about. Obi-Wan tries to go for Bane’s legs, and rolls back up to his feet as Bane evades the maneuver.

The scuffle ends with Obi-Wan pressed against a dirty alley wall, a blaster in his face, but his lightsaber hilt is pressed to Bane’s chin, his finger on the switch. They both freeze.

“Kenobi,” the bounty hunter spits out his name like it’s a bad deathstick.

“Bane,” Obi-Wan says, more politely because he wasn’t raised by rabid gundarks, “Nice hat.”

“I should gut you, right here,” Bane drawls, sounding not at all concerned about the lightsaber in his face.

“After all the fun we had together?” Obi-Wan says. He carefully does not to flick his eyes to the blaster.

“If you mean the Hardeen incident,” Bane says bitterly, “I never got paid for that job.”

“Unfortunately I don’t have much money,” Obi-Wan says dryly, “The Jedi Code, no material attachments and all. And the Chancellor was working with the Separatists anyways, you were never going to get your payment.”

“So it seems.” Bane says, though he still doesn’t seem inclined to withdraw his blaster.

There are footsteps outside the alleyway, and they both freeze. Indistinct voices speak, farther away now but drawing ever closer. Cad Bane’s eyes flick over to the mouth of the alleyway, unconsciously. Obi-Wan knows a man on the run when he sees one.

“Some friends of yours?” He asks in a whisper.

“You’re one to talk,” Bane retorts, “with the way you ducked in to _my_ hiding spot to avoid your mob.”

“Look,” Obi-Wan says, “I really don’t want any trouble either. So perhaps we could help each other out in a situation like this.”

Carefully, he withdraws his lightsaber, sliding it back onto the holster underneath his shirt. Bane glares, but lowers his blaster as well, “I’m listening.”

The voices are getting closer, and they sound angry.

“Just follow my lead.” Obi-Wan says. Before he can think too hard about it, he spins them around and slams his mouth over Bane’s.

There’s a moment of shocked pause, and then Bane is reciprocating, opening his mouth to let Obi-Wan’s tongue inside. He’s not bad at it either. Obi-Wan slides a hand behind Bane’s head, and takes off his distinctive hat. He hopes that whoever is after him won’t recognize the Duros without it. Bane’s hand is slipping beneath his shirt, and they’re chest-to-chest, close enough to feel the rough outline of a backup blaster and three vibroblades on the bounty hunter’s person. He raises a hand to cup Bane’s face, also conveniently blocking off any view of it from the side.

Distantly, he registers the voices at the mouth of the alley. Confusion, but no recognition.

“Get a room!” Someone shouts, and the footsteps leave hastily.

Obi-Wan pulls away, panting. Bane is breathing heavy as well. “I’m surprised,” he drawls, “I thought the Jedi were beyond physical needs.”

“Obviously you thought wrong,” Obi-Wan retorts. His physical needs were definitely making themselves known now, pounding with the adrenaline through his system. And unless that’s a third blaster, Bane’s physical needs are reacting just as readily.

“So it seems,” Bane says, tilting his head. He looks Obi-Wan over, in a way that implies more than checking for other hidden weapons. Obi-Wan is suddenly conscious of the sheer shirt he’s wearing, one of Quinlan’s that he borrowed so he wouldn’t stand out in the lower levels of Coruscant like a gundark among a goose flock in his Jedi robes.

“Maybe I should have demanded a different kind of payment,” Bane says, his voice taking on a deeper drone, one that sends a thrill down Obi-Wan’s spine.

Oh. Well.

Obi-Wan lets himself be crowded back against the opposite wall, mindful of the blasters. But Bane doesn’t seem interested in shooting anyone, at least not while he can stick his tongue down Obi-Wan’s throat. His hands are busy anyways, roaming down Obi-Wan’s front, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and burrowing underneath it, to warm skin.

It’s a bad idea. A terrible idea. Bane is on the run from what Obi-Wan strongly suspects is the law. Bane would kill him--has tried to kill him--at the slightest hint of a payout, or even on a whim. He doesn’t even know whether humans and Duros have compatible biology. But he’s tired and stressed, and hopped up on adrenaline like he hasn’t been since the war, and Bane is actually good with his tongue...The thought is quite familiar, and Obi-Wan wonders if he’s getting predictable.

“I hope,” he pants when Bane draws away to breathe, “you have a place. Unless you want to come to the Jedi temple?”

Bane laughs, and it’s not unpleasant. “Yeah, I have a place.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan says, and before he can convince himself to stop, he’s dragging Bane out and into the underbelly of Coruscant.

===

Bane’s place turns out to be a seedy motel room with questionable sheets. Obi-Wan has never been happier that he doesn’t have Quinlan’s gift of psychometry.

“Can’t you afford anything better than this?” He complains anyways, even as Bane presses him against said sheets, “I’ve seen the bounties you take.”

“What, can’t take a little dirt,” Bane says with a leer, “Didn’t peg you for the overly clean type.”

“It’s not dirt I’m worried about,” Obi-Wan says.

“Your whining is really killing the mood,” Bane snaps.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and decides it’s better not to be talking, and drags Bane down for another kiss.

At least the shower works relatively well, he finds out later. And humans and Duros do indeed have compatible biology. They don’t spend much time on the sheets.

===

Cody’s first rotation with the Coruscant Security Forces is going well. Police work is not so different from soldier work, though the rounds in his blaster are all for stunning, and there’s a lot more getting to know the locals. He thinks it's all a bit too much like soldier work, and his fellow Security Officers are a little too starry-eyed when they look at him, the former Commander of the 212th, but Rex seems to take to it like a glider-crab to an airstream. Still, he’s determined to make it to the end of his rotation.

This night has been quiet so far. Cody is on the Special Tactics team, which means he’s only really called out when the trouble gets rough, but in a city like Coruscant, there’s plenty of trouble to go around.

The first call of the night, at least, is exciting. A wanted and dangerous bounty hunter has been spotted entering a seedy motel in the lower levels of Coruscant. He pulls on the Security Forces blaster-proof vest and vambraces over his blacks.

“Nervous?” Rex asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a Shiny on his first deployment.

“Not at all,” Cody says, tightening the straps of his chest plate. The matte black looks wrong on his chest, when he expects orange-and-white plastoid. The Security Forces issued helmet has a clear face visor, and makes him feel naked.

“Don’t worry your pretty little face. It’ll be just like the good old days,” Rex says with a grin.

“We have the same face,” Cody points out.

“Exactly.”

Cody rolls his eyes, and stands. “You’d better check your equipment before your pretty face gets another scar.”

“Scars make me look cool,” Rex says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Then may some rabid tooka scratch your eyes out,” Cody replies. Rex barks out a laugh, and puts his hands up in surrender.

Cody smirks, and pulls the visor down over his face. “Ready to head out?”

Rex’s smile is eager, “When am I ever not?”

===

“Coruscant Security Forces! Hands in the air!” Cody shouts, kicking down the door, blasters raised and ready.

“Ah—Cody?”

Cody freezes, and gapes hard enough he thinks his eyes might fall out of his head. Because sitting at the single plastoid chair in the middle of the shitty motel room, shirtless and staring, and wearing the tightest pants this side of the Core, is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He has a line of dark bruises down the side of his neck—someone else’s handiwork, again, some small voice in Cody’s head whines, dark and sullen—and damp, bed-tousled hair. He’s holding a shitty motel mug that says ‘Blow me I’m hot’ halfway to his mouth, with a tea-bag of a truly atrocious brand of black tea dangling over the rim.

He puts the mug down slowly, and raises his hands in the air.

“Gen—Obi-Wan?” Cody says.

Obi-Wan’s face flushes slowly, like ink spreading through water. “Um,” he says, “I can explain.”

“What’s the hold-up?” the Security Force officer behind him barks out, snapping him out of his shock.

“There’s—he’s—our intel must be wrong—” Cody stammers. He’s lowered his blaster, because it feels downright blasphemous to point it at—well, he’s not thinking about the control chip that was so recently in his head, and that fucking order that was on them, not right now.

The co-worker stares over his shoulder, “Hey,” he says loud enough for the whole squad to hear, “Isn’t that—”

Before he can finish his thought, the ‘fresher door crashes open, spilling a flailing body out onto the carpet.

“The suspect is on the move! Karking bastard tried to jump out the ‘fresher window. Cody, intercept!” Rex’s voice thunders through their comms.

Cody’s reflexes have been engineered halfway to perfection, then trained the rest of the way. And that’s why his body reacts before his mind can drag itself away from the image of Obi-Wan’s flushed face, his bare chest, and the way his hair, still damp from a shower, falls over his eyes.

“Don’t move!” he shouts, and squeezes off a stun blast at the disheveled bounty hunter, who steps back quickly to avoid it.

“You!” the Duros howls, wild-eyed and staring at Obi-Wan, “You set me up!”

“I assure you I have nothing to do with this,” Obi-Wan snaps, hands still raised.

“I’ll kill you,” The Duros growls, and reaches for his hip. Weapon, Cody’s brain says, just as the blaster comes up, leveled at Obi-Wan’s chest. The Duros is fast, too fast. Cody’s reflexes take over again, and he lunges. He is too far from the bounty hunter, so he aims for the space between his Jedi and the blaster, praying that the blaster-proof armor will hold.

Two things happen simultaneously. The blaster fires, and Obi-Wan’s hand twitches. Cody slams into his Jedi, toppling them both onto the floor in a pile of tangled limbs, and the blaster bolt deflects upward, singeing a burn into the motel ceiling.

Rex leaps out from the destroyed ‘fresher door, and tackles Cad Bane into the carpet. The three Security Officers behind Cody shoot their stun blasters, and the Bane’s body twitches violently before going still.

“Gotcha, you bastard!” Rex crows and cuffs him.

He looks up then, and his eyes widen comically, “Uh, Cody, vod, am I seeing things or are you straddling your shirtless General on the motel floor?”

“Not a General anymore,” Obi-Wan says, reflexively.

“No one,” Cody snaps, ignoring the bare skin, warm even through his gloves, “Saw anything. This never happened.” He glares at everyone in the room, and he must look a lot angrier than he feels because the Security Officers all look away, interested suddenly in the motel decor. Everyone except Rex, whose face is slowly turning the color of muja fruit as he tries not to laugh, and whose wide grin promises that he will never forget this moment, ever, and will bring it up at all future events until Cody dunks him in the nearest body of water to shut him up.

Cody picks himself off Obi-Wan carefully, then holds out a hand to pull his Jedi--no, not his--up. 

“Thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan says, “Would you mind—ah, thanks.” Cody has already picked up the discarded shirt on the bed and handed it over. It’s not an improvement at all. The shirt is purple and sheer and the neckline sinks halfway down his chest. Cody swallows.

“Sir,” the Security Officer says, “we’ll be taking the suspect back to the precinct. You can stay and, uh, take the witness’s statement?” His eyes slide over to Obi-Wan, then quickly away in a universal gesture of not-my-business.

“Yes,” Cody says curtly.

The officers gather up Bane, cuffed to the ears and still unconscious, and shuffle out. Rex is the last to leave, and he places a hand on Cody’s shoulder with a shit-eating grin. “Take your time,” he says, “Wouldn’t want to miss anything important, right _vod_?”

Cody’s expression is neutral, and would have sent a Shiny crying for his incubator. It makes Rex’s grin stretch even wider. “I’m sure I’ve got it covered.” He says in dismissal.

Rex leaves, and Cody definitely hears howls of laughter as the door closes.

He closes his eyes, wishing he could draw on the Force for strength.

“So,” Obi-Wan says, settling back down in the chair, “Are you going to take my statement?”

Cody sighs, and turns to face him, “Really? Cad Bane?”

Obi-Wan shrugs and picks up the mug. He takes a sip, and makes a face. Even Cody can tell it’s a terrible brand of tea. “I didn’t realize he still had outstanding warrants. Or at least I thought he would be smart enough to avoid them.”

“You have terrible taste,” Cody says before he can stop himself. He doesn’t mean the tea.

Obi-Wan laughs, “Oh I am not disagreeing with you. But that is entirely the point, my dear.”

“The point of what?” Cody asks, frustration leaking through his calm. Because his—because Obi-Wan should know better than to put himself in these situations. Should be _safe_ , now that the war is over. Even as he thinks this, he knows it’s a ridiculous sentiment. Jedi are never really safe, not the way civilians are safe, or even the _vode_ are safe. Jedi will always throw themselves into the next gundark nest to save the next pathetic soul that needs their help.

Obi-Wan is looking at him strangely, apologetic and some other emotion he can’t parse. His mouth curves into a wry smile underneath his beard. “I suppose it’s the...safer choice, in a way.” There’s something wistful in his tone, though Cody can’t tell for the life of him why. Even after working alongside the man for so many years, he finds Obi-Wan still possesses that particularly infuriating strain of Jedi inscrutability.

“Safer?” He echoes.

Obi-Wan sighs and suddenly looks more tired than ever. Cody wonders when he last slept.

“In terms of...attachment. We’re still trying to figure that out, redefine it in light of the mess that was the war. But for now it’s safer when—well.” He makes a helpless gesture, hands outspread, but doesn’t elaborate. Cody tries not to finish the sentence in his mind: _it's safer because it’s not serious. It’s safer when he’s just some stranger in a motel room. It’s safer when it’s not you_.

Still. “You call that safe?” Cody points to the singed mark on the ceiling. He wants to take his Jedi by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

“I can take Cad Bane,” Obi-Wan says dismissively. Cody wants to scream. He schools his face into cold disapproval.

“But enough about my terrible taste, what about you?” Obi-Wan says hastily, “I see you’ve taken the opportunity to try something new. How are you enjoying your rotation with the Security Forces?”

Cody recognizes the clumsy deflection and takes the out without comment. He will scream into his pillow later. “It’s fine,” he says instead, then softens a bit, “I think Rex enjoys it more than I do. He’s always liked action.”

“Just like Anakin,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking his still-damp beard, “I suppose that’s why they’ve always gotten along so well.”

“Yes, but it’s not doing much for my blood pressure,” Cody grumbles.

Obi-Wan laughs, a wonderfully bright sound that Cody wants to bottle up and keep somewhere safe, “Exactly like Anakin then.”

“Unfortunately so, if half the stories Rex tells me are true.”

“Oh, I have no doubt they are,” Obi-Wan’s smile grows fond, “but do _you_ enjoy arresting the scum of Coruscant and protecting the peace?”

Cody shrugs a shoulder, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what we’re doing, just—” he searches for words, “It’s just that sometimes I miss the war. Not fighting clankers,” he adds quickly, as Obi-Wan’s expression falls, “but the people.” He looks away, not quite ready to see what Obi-Wan’s face will show, “The easy camaraderie that comes with a straightforward mission.” _The ability to keep you safe, and in sight all the time so you don’t go out running where I can’t catch up._

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s voice is quiet, and when Cody glances back at him, he’s staring intently at the dim cityscape motel window, a small frown in the middle of his brows. Cody’s heart sinks, but Obi-Wan looks back up, smile faint but still present, “I don’t think anything in the war was straightforward, but I think I know what you mean.”

Cody nods, not quite trusting himself to speak. It’s a thought that has been weighing on him. The war was what they were made for, and now that it’s over, how can he be anything else?

“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan places a hand on his shoulder. It’s comforting in its familiarity. “I’m sure you will find your place. Just give it time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I've made a tumblr with the same name, feel free to drop by to chat!


	3. Let's Make Like Spies and Make Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fun and embarrassment

Obi-Wan’s comm beeps when he’s halfway through his afternoon meditation. He is on mandated leave after his...unfortunate lapse in judgement with Bane, which the Council has mistakenly attributed to stress. He is perfectly fine, and the only thing that is going to cause a breakdown is an excess of time alone with his thoughts.

He expects to see a message from Anakin, who is heading back from Naboo to consult on a few of the Order’s new initiatives concerning the Code and new Initiate acceptance age, and should be planetside soon. But he sees instead an encrypted message from an unknown number.

_It’s been a while since I’ve heard your self-righteous voice, darling. I’ve got information, if you’re interested.  
_

And there’s a time and the name of a bar that he vaguely recognizes underneath. He recognizes the tone, and smiles faintly. He’s met Asajj a few times since her deflection from the Sith, and it seems she has turned over a new leaf, to the side of Grey if not Light. She trusts very few of the Jedi, but she has ins where they do not, and her information is always good. There’s a price for it, of course, but he’s sure the council and the senate will pay it.

_I look forward to seeing your lovely face as well, dear._

The reply he receives is—he squints. Some kind of tiny pictures of the kind that Ahsoka likes to use; emoji’s she’d called them. It’s a little face, smiling, with one eye closed in a wink. He puzzles over it for a moment, before deciding it’s not a hidden code. His comm chimes again. _It’s a date_.

Well, when in Chandrila, he thinks, and sends the same little winking face back.

===

The bar is classy, for the sublevel it’s on. The lighting is dim, but even so he sees the familiar figure sitting at the bar, drink dangling from one hand. If there was anyone who could lounge dangerously, it would be Asajj Ventress. She has switched to the type of skintight outfit he remembers from her earlier and more Sithly exploits in the war. It’s more suited to their current surroundings perhaps, but he knows better than to think she isn’t hiding a weapon or three somewhere on her. She’s saying something to the bartender, a Rodian who rolls her eyes at the ex-Sith. To her credit, Asajj only scowls instead of resorting to violence. Peace has changed her for the better, it seems.

He watches for a moment, scanning the room because one can never be too careful. But there’s no warning in the Force, no hint of ambush or danger. He saunters over, exuding the easy confidence that fits right in to their surroundings.

“Hello there,” he says, sliding into the seat beside her, “As cheerful as always, I see.”

Asajj doesn’t look surprised in the least to see him. “Darling,” she croons, “you look as pasty as ever. Are the slave drivers on your council working you to the bone?”

“No more than you did, back in the day,” he retorts.

She laughs, and it’s a smooth, assured sound, much nicer than the brittle, razor-edged laughs she’d had during the war. He doesn’t think he will ever really relax completely around her, but perhaps he could let down his guard.

“I believe you have something for me?” he murmurs, leaning in close. To anyone looking, it will seem like he’s already a drink or two in, flirting with the dangerous bounty hunter.

“Oh don’t be in such a rush,” she says, trailing a hand up his arm, “have a drink.”

“I don’t usually drink on the job.”

She leans closer to him as well, and her hand is sliding down his back, across his waist. He feels a faint touch on his belt and the tell-tale weight of something slipped into his pocket. A data chip.

“I hear you’re on leave,” she says, mouth almost flush against his ear, “Shouldn’t you be _relaxing_?”

He hums, “I suppose. Are you offering your assistance?”

“Oh, my assistance comes at a price of course,” she says, tapping the pocket with the data chip pointedly, and then sliding her hand up again.

“The usual, then?” This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation in subtle touches and double meanings, all cover for the exchange of data chips, and later the transfer of credits to a hidden bank account. But this time, there’s a difference. She doesn’t draw away, and instead shifts to bite his earlobe. The touch of teeth gives him a start, but it’s not unpleasant.

“I’ve heard you’ve made a habit of sleeping with the enemy,” she whispers. The Force stirs, and her intent is clearly projected, all hunger and unfettered lust that only deepens as he draws up his mental defenses. She’s always had a taste for ruffling feathers, particularly if they’re his. “Bounty hunters talk, you see.”

“Bane?” he sighs, wondering who hasn't heard about that, “Bad luck and a lapse in judgement, nothing more.”

“Is that so? A shame,” she does draw back a bit, enough to look him in the eyes. Hers are dark with the same desire that swirls in the Force, batting at his shields like the subtle touches of a lover. He swallows.

“I’m sure you could find any number of eager participants to sate your...desires,” he says.

“All this flirting and insinuation, Kenobi,” she says, “And no action. You’ll break a lady’s heart.”

“You’re no lady, my dear.” But there’s a promise in her eyes, of a good time and no strings attached. And there’s always been this—tension between them, like a taut wire, impossible to act on during the war, but now, well, the war _is_ over. Still, it’s a terrible idea. Once is a lapse, twice is a mistake, but three times is a pattern. He really shouldn’t. But if he leaves now, the council will pat him on the back and send him to his room, and he’ll be back where he started, bored and alone with his thoughts, and—

His choice crystallizes in the moments before he settles a hand on her waist.

“You’re getting predictable,” she laughs, and kisses him.

He decides the council can wait another day for the information. He is on leave, after all.

===

“We’re helping Ahsoka do what now?” Cody says. It’s much too early in the morning to be looking at Rex’s eager face.

“Aw, come on,” Rex nudges him with a shoulder, “Ahsoka’s been complaining about her roommate for months. Apparently she’s loud when she brings her lovers over, and Ahsoka thinks if we embarrass her enough she’ll cut it out.”

“Or,” Cody points out in a reasonable manner, “she could sit her roommate down and have a conversation about it.”

“Where’s the fun in that, vod?” Rex says, and slings an arm over Cody’s shoulders, “C’mon, I know for a fact that you don’t have anything to do tonight besides cleaning your armor and brooding over your General.”

“Keep talking,” Cody says mildly, “and I’ll remember suddenly that I have holos of the incident on Felucia, with the mud pit and the eels.”

“It’ll be fun,” Rex insists, dropping the topic of Cody’s general, “Ahsoka misses you. There will be cake.”

“Will this cake have vulgar images on it?”

“Would that stop you from eating it?”

Cody sighs. Probably not. “Fine. Just let me drink some caf first.”

He’s likely to regret this whole thing, but at least he’ll be in good company.

===

It’s good to see Ahsoka again, despite the unorthodox circumstances of their current meeting. Though he had not been as close to her as Rex, he’d still spent some time in her presence during the war, when their battalions worked together, or when his own general took command of her in her Master’s absence. He regrets the way she left, in the end, as well as the effect her leaving had on their battalions. He knows Rex has been keeping in touch with her, but he was not sure if his own communications would have been welcome. She seems happy, taller, her montrals longer, more at ease. It strikes him suddenly how long it’s been since he last saw her.

“Cody!” She says in a loud whisper, “so glad you could make it!” And she throws a hug around his waist, tight and warm, and he hugs back, smiling.

“Come on,” she whispers, gesturing, “I’ve got all the supplies ready, and I think they’re done for the night.”

The door to Ahsoka’s roommate’s room is quiet, thank the stars. They must have finished, but Ahsoka still glances at it balefully as they shuffle quietly around, setting up the decorations and getting into position. It’s like an op, recon or ambush, but instead of setting traps for the clankers, it’s party supplies. It’s nostalgic, in a way, and from the way Rex’s face softens, he must feel it as well.

“Ready?” Ahsoka mouths, her smile impish. Cody nods, despite his misgivings about this whole concept, and Rex’s grin is almost feral. 

“Operation: Rise and Shine is a go,” he whispers, making the hand signal for ready and waiting. Cody pointedly does not roll his eyes, but Ahsoka cackles soundlessly and knocks on the door.

There is a moment of silence, then a groan and shuffling coming from inside. The door swings open.

“Congratulations on the--Oh Force!”

Cody freezes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ahsoka’s mouth falling open, the party horn falling out onto the floor. Rex chokes on his own spit.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Council Member and former High General of the GAR rubs the sleep from his eyes in Ahsoka’s roommate’s doorway. His hair is mussed, and his beard is in need of a good brush, and his tunics are wrinkled in a way that suggests that they’ve been on the floor all night.

“Ahsoka?” He says, confusion evident.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka says, her voice a whole octave higher than usual. She would probably bury her face in her hands if she weren’t holding the cake.

Obi-Wan squints, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here!” Ahsoka says, still squeaky.

“You—oh.” he’s noticed the other two people. And the party streamers. And the more...phallic decorations. And the cake that Ahsoka tries very quickly to hide behind her back. From the way he flushes, however, it’s clear that he’s managed to see the picture Rex drew on it in icing. And even if he hasn’t, the words ‘Congrats on the Sex!’ are also written on the banner strung across the living room.

“You’re the roommate,” he says, realization and horror dawning in his eyes.

“You’re the latest hookup—oh stars—that means what Ahsoka was hearing—“ Rex managed to get out, then turns his head away, his hand clamped over his mouth still not enough to hide the giggling.

“Um,” Obi-Wan says, “To be fair, I did come here for the intel.” He holds up a data chip like a shield.

“You slept with Asajj for intel?” Ahsoka says, and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Wait. “Asajj, as in Asajj Ventress?” Cody says.

Rex chokes, again.

“Oh? I heard someone say my name,” a long, thin arm snakes its way across Obi-Wan’s neck, and a pointed chin hooks over his shoulder. It’s unmistakably Asajj Ventress, former Sith Apprentice and current bounty hunter, bane of the 501st and 212th battalions, and a personal pain in the _shebs_ of almost everyone in the room. And apparently Ahsoka’s roommate. Cody can’t see much of her, hidden as she is behind Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t think she’s wearing anything at all.

Obi-Wan’s posture stiffens slightly at the touch, and Cody wants to drag him away, out of reach of that—witch. She smirks at him, knowing, and he starts calculating the many ways one can strangle a person with party streamers.

But Obi-Wan sighs and, though he doesn’t quite relax, he manages to look like he’s not about to jump out of his skin, “I assure you, the, uh, activities were not a part of the payment.”

“Please,” Ventress snorts, “as if I would pay valuable information for you. No, the...activities as you so eloquently put it my dear, are purely for fun and stress relief.”

Cody manages not to blurt out his first indignant thought—that Obi-Wan is in fact worth _all_ the information—and says instead, “Really? After everything she’s done?”

“I’ve done quite a lot,” Ventress says, putting her mouth much too close to Obi-Wan’s ear, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Asajj,” Obi-Wan says in warning.

“How about the fact that she’s tried to kill everyone in this room at least once?” Cody says. His voice may be a bit high, but that’s just the budding hysteria. Nothing to worry about.

“She’s not—Well I don’t know if she’s still wanted, but she’s not an enemy,” Obi-Wan says, “she’s been feeding us information on the Separatist remnants for a while now.” Cody doesn’t think the sentiment is as reassuring as Obi-Wan seems to think it is.

“You’re rooming with Asajj Ventress?” Rex interrupts Cody’s incipient breakdown, staring at Ahsoka accusingly.

“Hey, rent on Coruscant is not cheap!” Ahsoka says, hands up.

“Yeah, but Ventress?”

“She pays her rent on time!”

“And thanks to the dear Master Kenobi here, I’ve got this month’s rent locked down,” Ventress practically purrs.

“If the intel is good,” Obi-Wan cautions.

“I assure you it is as good as you were last night,” She says, and leans down, mouth aimed towards his neck for a—lick? A bite? Cody bristles immediately, but Obi-Wan has anticipated the attack and places a hand up over her mouth before she can make contact. She smirks behind his palm.

“I assure _you_ that this will not happen again,” he says, and steps quickly out of her grip and into the hall. And—yep, she’s not wearing anything at all. Cody averts his eyes quickly.

“Shame,” she says, unabashed.

Cody takes the opportunity to slide in between them and slam the door to her room with slightly more force than is necessary. The sound of Ventress’ laughter drifts out through the plastoid and metal.

There is another moment of awkward silence before Obi-Wan says stiffly, “I apologize, Ahsoka, for any...inconvenience I might have caused.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Ahsoka says with a high, nervous laugh, “In fact, let’s forget this ever happened and never think about it again.”

Obi-Wan looks relieved, “I agree.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody starts to say, because he definitely wants to talk about why he should _not_ sleep with the enemy, even if said enemy is a sometimes-ally, if only for Cody’s peace of mind.

“No, let’s not forget,” Rex says, “Let’s go back to the fact that you’re _rooming_ with an _ex-Separatist ex-Sith bounty hunter_!”

“ _Ex_ being the key phrase here,” Ahsoka says, her voice back to normal.

“If you need help with rent, I know for a fact that Skywalker and half the 501st would be willing to—“

“It’s not about the rent,” Ahsoka snaps, “It’s about making my _own_ path!”

“A path that involves _rooming_ with a--”

“You’re not my _crechemaster_ , Rex, and if I’d known you’d be so _weird_ about it--”

“ _Weird_ ? Weird about you _rooming_ with--”

“Ahem,” Obi-Wan’s cough is soft, but he must have done something with the Force because everyone’s attention is suddenly on him.

“I believe this is a conversation better had when tensions are less high,” he says mildly. Rex glares at Ahsoka with a look that says this isn’t over, and she glares right back, but they don’t start shouting again. Cody sighs, knowing that the rest of the afternoon will be spent on mediating this issue. At least, he thinks, Rex will be too busy to tease him about it for now.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, “We shouldn’t do this on an empty stomach, and I believe I saw a cake earlier.”

===

“Oh Force,” Anakin chokes out, doubling over in laughter as he lays on the couch of Senator Amidala’s luxurious apartment, “Oh Stars, Obi-Wan, I can’t _believe_ you actually—” he breaks off into more breathless laughter, as Obi-Wan sits on the opposite side off the couch and pointedly does not pout.

“Really, Anakin?” he says, and gives his former apprentice a long-suffering look. “I did not come to listen to you laugh about my indiscretions.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe that rule-abiding, perfect Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi would have _loud, energetic, roommate-disturbing_ sex with—”

“ _Anakin_!” Obi-Wan snaps, flushing. He loves his former padawan, but he wonders how he ever raised a padawan to knighthood without instilling the most basic of manners, “I am not a perfect Jedi, and regardless there’s nothing in the Jedi Code that forbids...physical relations outside the Order.”

“Of course, of course,” Anakin says, with a few residual giggles, “Don’t worry, you’re still the Code-abiding stick in the mud, my old Master.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, feeling a headache coming on. Really, he does miss Anakin, it’s the insolence he can do without.

“It’s just that—you weren’t like this back when I was your padawan,” Anakin says. Which is rich, considering the reason he never got much action back then was, in part, because Anakin was such a demanding padawan.

Obi-Wan must be more annoyed than usual, because he says, “Oh? Or perhaps I was simply better at hiding my antics than you were at hiding your secret marriage.”

Anakin winces, “Harsh, but fair.”

Obi-Wan sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—I have been a bit tired recently.” Honestly, he’s proud of how Anakin has grown since the war has ended. Padme has been an excellent influence on him, regardless of how it all started.

“What else is new,” Anakin says, letting the barb go with no more than a roll of his eyes, “you’ve been trying to work yourself into an early grave as usual. Even on your time off you manage to find intel on a separatist loyalist attack and fuel the temple rumor mill with another scandal. Do you know I’ve had three council members ask me what’s wrong with you?”

“Really?” That is news to Obi-Wan. He knows the council has been concerned about him lately, but he thought they’d at least ask _him_ first.

“You want to know what I think?” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan is not sure he does. But Anakin barrels on, “I think you’re trying to distract yourself from something—or should I say _someone_ —because you’re pining.”

“Pining? Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin. I do not _pine_.”

“Sure you don’t,” Anakin says in his most unconvinced tone, “no attachment and all, right?”

“It’s not about attachment, it’s—complicated.” Obi-Wan finds that he doesn’t want to continue this conversation. In fact, he would prefer to forget that it ever happened.

“Have you actually talked to him about it?” Anakin says, sounding perfectly reasonable.

“Have you talked to anyone about your chronic need to meddle in your friends’ lives?” Obi-Wan says. So much for being the voice of reason.

Anakin feigns shock, clenching a fist to his chest with a gasp, “It's concern, not meddling! And can’t believe I’m the mature one today,” he says, then bursts into laughter again.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.”

“Sure, as soon as you confess your secret, forbidden love for your Co—”

Obi-Wan decides that he’s had enough of being the mature one, and lunges. Anakin goes down with an indignant shriek, and all further conversation is lost in the tangle of flailing limbs and laughter.


	4. Who Can Resist a Face Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops my hand slipped

Obi-Wan has never liked formal political functions, but even he will admit he’s very good at them. Such is the curse of being charming, he supposes. The Council has taken full advantage of that, and sent him to some fancy three-day fundraising event for post-war reconstruction that is only a thin excuse for a party. It is, in Mace’s words, a chance for him to relax and sort his shit out before he starts traumatizing the younglings. He’s sure he has Ahsoka to thank for that, though he really hopes she regains the ability to look him in the eye again soon.

In any case, the party—sorry, political fundraiser—is being held on one of the floating resorts of Bespin, the epitome of opulence and excess. They’ve booked the entire resort, and his quarters--an ambassadorial suite he’s sure they gave him based on his reputation alone—look like something out of a Nubian historical holodrama, the kind where there are courtiers and courtesans and a lost heir to the throne who returns victorious with a prince in her arms. The carpet is ankle-deep plush, and the curtains are tulle. Outside the large ceiling-high windows, the cumulus mountains and cirrus seas of Bespin swirl in soft white wavelets, lapping at the panes.

Perhaps he could have enjoyed a vacation here, if it weren’t for the actual parties.

It seems that every fundraiser requires at least three hours a day of milling around a large ballroom full of tiny round tables, with tiny, elaborate snacks on little trays and glasses of alcohol that are far too small, brushing shoulders with the richest and most influential members of the galaxy. He has a flash of consternation that the galaxy counts him among that group, but even he has to admit that Jedi High Councilor and former decorated general of the GAR are not positions to be underestimated.

This means, unfortunately, that he finds himself approached by all kinds of politicians and power-seekers, and his usual friends are not present. Bail is on a relief mission delivering supplies from Alderaan to Ryloth, while Padme is still on Naboo with her newborn children. He entertains the thought of commandeering a starship to go find one of them instead, but that will only draw more of the Mace’s ire down on him.

He brushes off another simpering politician trying to convince him of the need to divert a portion of the reconstruction funds to his own Inner-Rim planet, which Obi-Wan knows has suffered no more than a communications outage or two during the war. His smile grows more strained, and he makes a quick excuse to flee towards the refreshments table, where he hopes to find something stronger than the bubbling amber liquid he’s not convinced is actually alcoholic.

Something pings his senses, a twinge like a pulled muscle. He turns his head, tracing the feeling, and sees a clone, unassuming in the subdued colors of a dress uniform, standing idly by the wall. He knows there is a clone representative here, likely trying to gain support for their own efforts to secure a permanent home, but he does not recognize this one. Still, it’s a welcome face in the crowd, and he hurries over.

Then, he suddenly recognizes the Force signature and freezes in his tracks. The last time he had felt that particular Force signature, it had been flying away in a Firespray-Class Interceptor as fast as mechanically possible from the red dust of Geonosis.

“Hello there,” he says.

The man turns, shoulders relaxed but eyes hard as the ice on Ilum. Now that he’s looking at the man head on, there’s no mistaking the facial scars, and the way he angles himself towards the room in the stance of a man accustomed to working alone.

“General Kenobi,” the man says, with a polite nod, “It’s an honor to meet you at last. You’re quite the legend.”

“Funny,” Obi-Wan says, “Because I could have sworn we’ve met before on Kamino, a few years ago. We had the most...stimulating conversation in the rain.”

Jango Fett’s eyes glint sharply, though his face does not change from polite interest. He spreads his hands in front of him in a gesture of non-aggression, “I’m just a simple man,” he said, “trying to do a simple job.”

“A job that requires you to assume the identity of a clone guard is perfectly legal, I’m sure.”

“It is a convenient ruse,” Fett says, not even trying to deny it, “People see a clone and so easily look the other way.”

“Unfortunately for you, I can differentiate between vod’e,” Obi-Wan says, smiling politely back, “And I recognized your Force signature.”

“ _Jetii_ ,” Fett sighs with no small amount of disgust.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or do I have to call security to have you thrown out?” Obi-Wan says, “And before you say it, I’ve looked at the guest list and you are definitely not on it.”

Fett’s eyes narrow, “You don’t want to do that.”

“And why not?” Obi-Wan really should call someone over. A raised voice or wave of his hand could summon the security. But this is possibly the most interesting thing to happen at the party all night, so he doesn’t, not yet.

“You could call the security team over,” Fett says, “in which case I’ll be out the window before they can reach the appetizer table, and you’ll be stuck explaining everything to the local authorities.”

“Confident in your escape, aren’t you?”

“Or,” Fett continues pointedly, “We could have some fun.”

“Fun?” Obi-Wan has a premonition of mayhem and destruction. He doesn’t think he wants to know what someone who has killed Jedi with his bare hands does for fun.

But Fett takes a step forward, into Obi-Wan’s space. Just shy of touching. It’s—distracting. Not the least because of Fett’s face. It’s familiar-yet-unfamiliar, one that is eerily similar to the face he’s seen on hundreds of men fighting by his side, yet different in the nuances. Different scars, different wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. And that look on his face, heavy-lidded and nakedly hungry. Obi-Wan has never seen that look on any of the vod’e, and definitely not the one he wants to see it on. He feels something churn in his gut, hunger of a different sort.

“You’ve been looking bored all night,” Fett says, his voice low and just this side of hoarse, “We could go somewhere else for more interesting activities.”

And wasn’t that a clear proposition. “I—didn’t think you would be interested in that kind of thing,” Obi-Wan says carefully, “especially with a Jedi.”

Fett shrugs. “You’re no ordinary Jedi. Kamino proved that, and the war. And besides, bounty hunters talk.”

Obi-Wan suppresses a sigh. Had he become so predictable?

“Look at it this way,” Fett adds, “You can keep an eye on me while we’re having fun.”

It’s a terrible decision, but Obi-Wan is weak against a face like that. And the party _is_ quite boring.

“So long as you don’t cause any trouble,” he murmurs, leaning forward.

Fett’s smile is pure filth. “I guess you’ll have to keep me distracted then, _jetii_.”

===

Obi-Wan stares at the ceiling of the ambassadorial suite and wishes he could sink through the luxurious bed sheets and into the floor like a Beldon through the clouds outside. Or perhaps he can draw enough blood to his face with his flush that he will pass out and forget everything that happened in the last five minutes. The ceiling has a painting of two cherubic Ugnaughts twirling through the clouds on little wings. It is, he thinks, supposed to be a calm, relaxing image to facilitate sleep. It does not help.

Beside him, also naked under the sheets, Jango Fett shifts, and Obi-Wan can feel his amusement emanating from him like a noxious gas. 

“So,” Jango drawls, “Cody, was it?”

“Shut up,” Obi-Wan’s voice sounds weak, even to his own ears. He brings a hand up to cover his face, and curses his mouth and loosening effects a post-orgasmic haze had on the tongue. But really, how could he help himself with a face like that?

“You _jetiise,_ ” Jango snorts, “really need to find a better way to get over your issues.”

“Shut up.”

“Just because I don’t find the desperation off putting doesn’t mean the rest of the galaxy won’t.”

“You’re the one who had to clone himself a son because he was too off-putting to charm a woman into bed with him.” And Obi-Wan really needs to gain better control of his tongue when he panics. Especially when he’s naked next to a man who has killed six Jedi with his bare hands.

“I charmed you just fine, Kenobi,” Jango says, without much real heat.

“That’s more of a testament to my terrible taste in bedpartners than any charm on your end.”

Jango laughs. “Well,” he says, unsheathing his smirk, “I’m sure that Cody—”

“No,” Obi-Wan sits up abruptly, “This conversation is not happening.”

“Why Kenobi, it almost sounds like you’re embarrassed.”

“Not. Happening,” Obi-Wan repeats. “In fact,” he says, reaching out with a gross misuse of the Force to drag Jango’s clothes off the floor and shove them into his chest, “You should go. I’ll even give you a ten minute head start before I call security.”

Jango snorts, but takes the clothes and rolls out of the bed in one quick, lithe movement.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, amusement palpable, “I’m sure Cody would appreciate that thing you did with your—“

“Get out,” Obi-Wan says firmly, and sinks back into the mattress, pulling the covers over his head. Dimly, he registers the rustle of clothing, and then the sound of the bedroom door. He sighs. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can mindtrick himself into forgetting this ever happened.

===

Cody has never liked politics, but he’s been to enough events alongside his general during the war that he knows how to behave at them. He’s not the main attraction for this one, thank the stars. That would be Silver, the elected representative for the vode, who had the dubious honor of being the public face—ha—of the clones, and embedding himself in the political mire. As an auxiliary member of the ambassadorial team for this rotation in the diplomatic circuit, Cody spends his time compiling dossiers, going over bills and amendments, and staying out of the actual party to avoid the staring looks. Clones, now that they’re citizens and not marching out as faceless units against equally faceless enemies, have become something of a novelty, especially at parties like these. People love a good war story, and the public loves to love a war hero. The fact that they all have the same face makes it easier, like a symbol of honor more obvious than any badge or medal. It makes Cody’s stomach turn sometimes, all those adoring crowds who want to ask him if he’s ever shot a clanker, or been saved by a Jedi, and nothing at all about all the names of the brothers lost. And he should really stop thinking about this before he has to go take several deep breaths.

Actually, some air sounds pretty good right now. He’s not on shift for the next few hours, and the party is still in full swing, so he’s unlikely to meet any politicians. It is better than staying in his own rooms, which, though nowhere near as large and luxurious as the ambassador’s, are still bigger than his bunk on the _Negotiator_ , or the cramped apartment on Coruscant he shares with Rex. All that space makes him feel too hollow, like a nearly empty prescription bottle down to the last clattering pill.

The hallways are open-air corridors, wrapping around the central column of the floating resort, and past the railing he can see the vast cloud seas of Bespin, the tiny dots of aerial-marine creatures skimming across the surface of cumulus waves. The air carries the faint ozone smell of tibanna gas, and a robust breeze that calms him down. A walk will be good for him.

He lets his feet carry him down the halls while his mind turns circles in his head. Thoughts of the future: he is already sure that diplomacy is not his thing. He can do paperwork and research well, but there’s no love lost between him and bureaucracy, and his speeches are geared towards military briefings rather than stirring the hearts of a civilian audience. 

And there’s the Jedi. He can accept that the vod’e no longer work under the Jedi, that the loyalty that was drilled into them since they were decanted was no more than a convenient lie, that their lives are their own to decide now, not bound to a Jedi general or army unit, but he cannot help...wanting. To help, or protect, or even just to comfort one Jedi in particular. His Jedi. Call him sentimental, or brainwashed, or co-dependent, but he _wants_ , with a heart-sore, gut-deep kind of want, that wakes him from sweaty, awkward dreams he hasn’t had since his cadet days, hollows him out until he takes extra shifts to fill the space between his ribs, and sets him to brooding.

After the...incident with Ventress and the last long brooding session that Rex had interrupted eventually, his vod had slapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Cody, my brother, you’re making this all harder than it has to be. If you want it, then just go for it.”

That’s easy for Rex, who has probably never wanted more than a quick roll in the sheets, something fun and carefree. He can’t be like Rex, who leaps heart-first into the world, prepared to take it all as it comes, or Ahsoka who set down so much of her past to forge her own new way in the galaxy, or even Skywalker who has, surprisingly, left the Jedi nest and settled down to a sweet domestic life with a senator and two kids. But when he thinks of what he wants—of his Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, infuriating and compassionate and beautifully dangerous, he feels frozen, a tauntaun in the headlights, paralyzed, tongue-tied, just—afraid. It’s an impossible goal, too much of a gap between them, too many layers of guilt and duty and fear. Perhaps, if Obi-Wan had been a military officer, or if Cody had been a civilian, or any other permutation of statuses, but Jedi and clone are tied up in conspiracy and poisoned trust. It would never work out, or so he tells himself when he sees Obi-Wan smile or laugh or flash that knowing look at him. It’s all that keeps him from stepping up and--well, doing something he might regret afterwards.

His thoughts are circling, he knows. If Obi-Wan were here, he’d tell Cody to take a moment to calm his emotions, take deep breaths just shy of meditation. Cody closes his eyes and tries.

He almost walks into a door as someone abruptly exits one of the suites along the hall.

Cody swears, and dances backward, half grateful that he doesn’t have a blaster to accidentally point at the offending party. The door swings shut, and he sees—a clone. There should be no clones in this wing of the resort, which is reserved for the extremely important guests. And this clone is not Dock or Crys, or any of the others on the diplomatic mission. In fact, he doesn’t recognize this vod at all.

“What are you doing here, cadet?” Cody snaps.

The vod stares at him flatly, none of the starry-eyed respect he gets from new recruits. The facial scars also suggest a hardened soldier. With millions of vod, it’s not entirely surprising that Cody doesn’t recognize him, but there’s a sense of unease that lingers, like a salacious rumor.

The man looks him up and down, and his mouth quirks up in a grin. “You Cody?” he asks.

“Yes,” Cody narrows his eyes, suspicion growing, “What’s it to you?”

The man laughs, “Word of advice, you might get lucky, if you actually get off your ass and ask him.”

“What?” Cody’s mind races back to his looping thoughts, he can’t mean—

“I didn’t train any of you to be cowards,” the man says, and brushes past Cody and disappears around the corner.

The recognition sinks in then. “Jango Fett,” he mouths, thunderstruck. It’s like meeting the Chancellor coming out of a seedy club bathroom in the lower levels of Coruscant, unexpected and unsettling.

And then he recognizes the suite. The ambassador’s suite, where the Jedi representative is housed. And if he remembered correctly, the representative is—

His heart rate spikes abruptly, and he barges in through the door, which has not swung completely shut yet. The suite has a foyer and living area, which are empty except for a plain Jedi-issue cloth rucksack opened on the plush couch and a teacup on the table. On the right side of the room is another door that leads, presumably, to the bedroom. Someone groans from inside.

Cody has never covered ten feet of space faster. He slams the door open, Obi-Wan’s name on his lips and sees a lump on the bed where the groaning sound emanates.

The lump shifts, and a face peers out from between the bedcovers, hair mussed and eyes squinting.

“Jango? I thought I told you to go—oh.”

Obi-Wan looks fine, if a bit red, and the speed at which he sits up bodes well for his continued health, but not for Cody’s peace of mind. “Ah, Cody,” he says, trying to smooth down his hair and beard, “I didn’t realize—are you here with ambassador Silver's entourage?”

Cody nods mutely. Obi-Wan is bare to the waist, and the bedcover is sliding down even further, revealing more pale skin beyond where he would expect underclothes. He jerks his gaze back up, and tries not to stare at Obi-Wan’s bare chest, covered in sparse hair.

“You’re ok,” he says instead, trying not to sound too relieved.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan has the gall to look confused.

“I just saw Jango Fett walk out the door,” Cody says, in explanation. “Also, you called me Jango just now.”

Obi-Wan glances up towards the painted ceiling, as if it held the answers to the most pressing questions of the universe, and sighs deeply, “Yes, well, another one of my bad decisions, you could say. I was in no danger, I assure you.”

Cody’s heart is in his throat. _If you want it, then just go for it_ , Rex had said.

 _You might get lucky if you get off your ass and just ask him_ , Jango had said.

He knows if he stops to think, he’ll convince himself to turn around and walk out, walk away and think it’s the right thing. Maybe he should, and maybe it is, but he’s tried walking away, and he keeps finding his path leading him back. If there is some kind of predestination or will of the Force, he has the feeling that it’s trying to tell him something.

He wets his lips, clears his dry throat. “I noticed that your last bad decision happened to have the same face as me.”

That gets Obi-Wan to look at him, sharply. “Cody,” he starts, but Cody has to keep talking, before he swallows his courage with his tongue.

“Just—listen.” he says, feeling like the first time he stood in front of a shooting range as a cadet with a blaster in his hands, knowing what it could do, “You don’t have to say anything, or talk to me ever again, but I have watched you make patently stupid decisions by sleeping with people who have _tried to kill you before_ , and it’s not exactly my business, but it’s been hell on my blood pressure because I can’t help _caring_. And I know Jedi are not big on attachments, or relationships really, but the war is over, the vod'e have citizenship and all the rights we fought for, you’re no longer my commanding officer, so fraternization isn’t an issue, I—” he nearly chokes then, takes a deep breath and finishes, “I could be a bad decision too.”

Cody feels his face grow steadily warmer as Obi-Wan stares and the silence stretches like Corellian taffy. When he can’t take it anymore, he turns, with a clumsy salute, “I’ll just be going—”

“Wait,” Obi-Wan’s voice is hoarse, but it stops Cody more surely than a ray shield, pinning him in place. He turns, not daring to hope.

“I—” Obi-Wan starts, and pauses, sighs, “I can’t do this naked. Please, Cody, give me a minute.”

Cody nods and heads back to the living area, mind blank. He hears shuffling in the room, and tries not to make a break for it. He busies himself with the tea, a process he can complete on autopilot now: heat the water, scoop the leaves, steep the tea. The clink of porcelain would have calmed him any other time, but tonight it barely registers.

Just as he’s contemplating the feasibility of jumping out the window and scaling the walls to the floor above, Obi-Wan comes out of the bedroom, wearing his Jedi tunics, still wrinkled, and he looks tired, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders and the way he throws himself onto the couch.

Cody follows suit on the opposite side of the table, perching himself on the edge of the cushion, as calm as he can get with the nerves that have him restless and nearly jumping out of his skin. Obi-Wan seems just as on-edge, but his unease manifests as smoothing the edges of his beard with his hand, compulsively.

They sit for a moment, in silence. Cody pushes the cup of tea forward, and Obi-Wan takes it, drains it even though it is still scalding.

Obi-Wan speaks first, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Anakin was right.”

Not exactly the thing he wants to hear, but it isn’t an outright rejection at least. “Skywalker?” Cody says carefully.

Obi-Wan sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. When he speaks again, it’s to his hands, clutching the teacup like a lifeline, “He told me, a few weeks ago, that the reason I’ve been making so many...terrible decisions, has to do with an, ah, attachment I’ve formed.” he looks at Cody, and Cody’s heart skips a beat because hope is a stubborn weed, hard to uproot.

“It’s just, with the war and the way it ended, and the changes to the Jedi Order, the interpretation of the Code under debate, and the fact I’ve always been prone to attachment, well, I’ve never really dared…” he trails off, and takes a breath.

“I can’t promise I’ll be able to put you first in all situations, above my duty as a Jedi, or that things will all work out. But I want—I want to try.” He looks up at Cody at last, and there’s a faint smile underneath the beard, “So the answer is yes, Cody,” He says, “though I would hardly call you a bad decision. You’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Cody’s heart is a cup overflowing, a garden overgrown, any number of tender, romantic things that he’s read in those pulpy romantic holonovels Rex thinks he’s hidden so well in the back of their pantry.

His mouth says, “Thank the stars, I thought I was going to have to shoot the next one.”

That startles a laugh out of Obi-Wan, sudden and bright as starlight, and now that Cody is allowed to touch, how can he not lean forward and kiss him?

Obi-Wan makes a surprised sound, then grabs at Cody’s shoulder, pulling him close until he’s nearly in the other man’s lap, one knee on the cushion and both arms braced against the back of the couch. Cody, once he has recovered his balance, shifts his hands to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, pressing him close as well. Obi-Wan’s beard is scratchy, and their teeth clack together in his eagerness, but he doesn’t mind. Then Obi-Wan’s tongue gets involved, and Cody forgets everything except the slide of mouth against mouth.

For a while, it’s bliss.

Then, Obi-Wan pulls back, despite Cody’s noise of protest, and says, “We really should inform the security team about Jango’s presence. I really don’t think he’s here for the scenery.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re almost there! I extended the expected chapters by one, because there will be a short wrap-up chapter posted soon, but the story is almost over!


	5. Don't Give Credit Where Credit is Planning Your Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wrap-up.

Anakin laughs himself silly when Obi-Wan tells him, and Obi-Wan isn’t even annoyed. He doesn’t think anything can annoy him now, when he’s holding Anakin’s children and talking about his new partner, this time in both senses of the word.

“I want an invitation to the wedding,” Anakin says, when he’s done, for the moment at least. Luke gurgles in his arms, trying to chew on the fingers of his mech hand.

“Who said anything about weddings or marriage?” Obi-Wan says, rocking Leia on his lap.

“Hey, I’ve only been to one wedding, and I feel like I’ve missed out,” Anakin says.

“If you’re referring to your secret marriage to Padme, I will remind you that you didn’t invite me to your wedding,” Obi-Wan says.

Anakin winces, “True, but on the flip side, I made you godfather to our children?”

Obi-Wan smiles, and tickles Leia’s stomach. She burps in response, and giggles, grabbing for his fingers. “As if you could stop me.”

“So,” Anakin says, “Does that mean—”

“No, Anakin.”

===

“Congratulations, Master Obi-Wan! And Cody! I’m very happy for you two!” Ahsoka beams, looking two inches to the right of Obi-Wan’s face, “I also want you to know that I have an unofficial curfew, starting whenever you two disappear somewhere together.”

Cody coughs into his fist.

“Right, thank you Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan says with a strained smile, “And really, I apologize—”

“No need, Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka says cheerfully, her smile just a tad too wide, “It never happened.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says, “I accept your congratulations then. For what it’s worth, I promised Mace not to traumatize any more younglings.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Ahsoka says, and steps in to give them both a proper hug this time.

===

“I heard the great news,” Padme says, the next time Obi-Wan drops in at her office in the Senate building, “I must say, the new Jedi-clone liaison team is quite effective at turning around the public image of the Jedi. I’m afraid the late chancellor was quite ruthless in his subtle vilification of your order.”

“Of course, Senator,” Obi-Wan says, “It lines up quite nicely with a few of the internal changes we’ve been making in the Order.”

Padme smiles, “One of which is a redefinition of attachment, or so I’ve heard.”

“So long as it does not cloud our judgement,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile.

“As I’m sure it won’t, Master Kenobi,” Padme says, then her lips tilt in a way that turns her smile sly, “And I do believe your discretion will improve as well.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan coughs, “I heard you were a large proponent of the bill for increased Jedi independence from the Senate jurisdiction.”

“If the last few years of war and treachery have taught us anything, it is that we cannot hope to hold on to our allies by binding them too tightly to ourselves.” Padme says, sobering.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, “You would have made an excellent Jedi, Padme,” he says, “And I mean that in the best of ways.”

Padme’s face pinks, and she flashes a smile that is almost shy, “I am flattered, Obi-Wan. Thank you.”

The rest of their conversation is pleasant, revolving around unimportant pieces of gossip around the Senate and the Jedi Order, and Obi-Wan realizes how much he has missed these conversations with Padme without her and Anakin’s secret marriage looming between them. He really should have come to visit her sooner after the war ended.

“Oh, and congratulations on snagging Commander Cody,” she adds, just as he is about to leave, “And if you need any references for a discreet wedding, I have some experience with such things.”

He gives her a despairing look, “You too, Senator?”

She laughs, “I will never hear the end of it from Ani, I’m afraid. Of course, I’m glad my friends are together and happy, no matter what form that takes.”

He smiles, “I thank you then, Senator. And please tell Anakin that it is still not going to happen.”

===

“Finally got off your ass and asked him?” Rex says, cuffing him over the neck with an arm, “Didn’t I tell you that’s all you needed to do? Always listen to your little brother, Cody.”

Cody stares, a mix of exasperation and relief, “Funny you should say that.”

“Now, you’ve got to tell us all the details. There is so much money riding on this.”

Cody sighs, “Rex…”

===

“So,” Obi-Wan says, splaying out like a starfish on the only bed in his Jedi temple quarters, “Are you regretting your decision yet?”

Cody, who has been spending most of his precious little down time in said temple quarters, groans and flops down beside him, trying to keep his eyes open. Obi-Wan wasn’t kidding about the being worked to the bone part of Jedi business. And now, as a member of the Jedi liaison team, he has far too much first-hand experience of said business to doubt. Three back-to-back missions, the last of which ended in a massive firefight and explosions.

“Sometimes I really question my own sanity,” Cody says into the sheets, “Also, as soon as I get my twelve uninterrupted hours of beauty sleep, I’m going straight to the high council and demanding a week’s worth of leave.”

“Darling, I am the council,” Obi-Wan says, and then cracks up laughing.

“Haha, then I guess it’ll be easy for me to tell the council to go fuck itself.”

Obi-Wan rolls over onto his side, and stares at Cody with a speculative look. It’s a look that heralded half the clusterfucks they’d been in during the war, and it sends an electric tingle down Cody’s spine.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, “I suppose the council could, if you’re too tired to help out.”

Cody is suddenly much less tired.

“I’m not that tired,” Cody props his head up and tries not to sound so eager. But Obi-Wan is as irresistible as a gravity well, and Cody is a star caught in his orbit. And he has an amazing ass.

Obi-Wan snorts, “Enjoy your time off, liaison officer. I heard there’s another political schism burgeoning on Trandosha that the Jedi might be called in to mediate before it turns into a civil war.”

Cody would groan, but he’s too distracted by the way Obi-Wan’s mouth curls in a smile, the way his throat moves as he speaks, the soft flutter of his lashes. He leans closer, “Oh don’t worry, I will. For the good of the galaxy and all.”

Obi-Wan smirks, “Were you not just questioning your decision to be a part of this mad house?”

Cody grins, and shoves himself up and over, until he’s settled on Obi-Wan’s chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He leans down and says into Obi-Wan’s beard, “Best decision I ever made.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, folks. I started this last month when I should have been working on a super stressful work project, and I hope you enjoyed the ramblings of my twisted sleep deprived mind. Stay healthy and stay strong out there! 
> 
> Also, no promises, but if there ever is a next part, it will be about the many times they fail at sex before they get it right, because Obi-Wan is overcompensating now that he actually likes his partner, and Cody has never done this before.


End file.
